Soft. Warm. Slow.
She pressed the flat of her tongue against the tender skin broad, soothing strokes, lapping gently at the slickness and the faint sting left behind.
No suction. No teeth.
Just careful, wet heat gliding over every hypersensitive inch, easing the burn, tasting the remnants of Rowan's release with quiet reverence.
Rowan's breath hitched... "Nngh… Isa…". ..but this time it wasn't protest.
Her fingers threaded weakly into Isadora's dark hair, holding her there instead of pushing away.
Isadora hummed low against her vibrations soft and comforting continuing the slow, gentle licks until Rowan's thighs finally relaxed, falling open wider in exhausted surrender.
Only when the worst of the oversensitivity dulled did Isadora pull back, lips glistening, and reach for another wet wipe.
This time Rowan didn't flinch as hard.
Isadora cleaned her properly slow swipes over folds, inner thighs, the sticky trails down her skin tender, thorough, wiping away every trace of their mess with careful strokes.
She even dabbed gently at the sweat between Rowan's breasts, over the dark hickeys, tracing the bruises like she was memorizing them.
When she was done, she tossed the used wipes into the back seat, then leaned over Rowan fully bare chest to bare chest, sports bra still hugging her own frame, underwear damp and clinging.
Isadora's toned body settled atop Rowan's softer curves weight distributed so she wasn't crushing her, but close enough that every breath pressed their skin together.
Rowan's arms came up automatically wrapping loosely around Isadora's back, fingers splaying over the warm, sweat-damp expanse of her spine.
Isadora buried her face in the crook of Rowan's neck nose brushing the fresh hickeys there, inhaling the mingled scent of sex, sweat, and Rowan's skin.
"Sleep," Isadora whispered, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer. "I've got you."
Rowan's eyes were already drooping heavy, lashes wet.
Isadora tugged the edge of Rowan's discarded blouse up just enough to drape it loosely over both of them like a thin blanket.
Then she curled tighter head on Rowan's shoulder, one leg slotted between Rowan's thighs, hand resting possessively over the curve of her breast, thumb brushing idly over a still-tender nipple.
Rowan's breathing slowed first deep, even exhales that stirred Isadora's hair.
Then Isadora followed body going heavy and lax, the last of her tension bleeding out as sleep claimed her.
The dashboard clock glowed faintly: hours past midnight.
The windows stayed fogged, sealing them in.
The city outside moved on without them.
Inside the car tangled together, marked and claimed and finally still they slept.
Exhausted.
Safe.
>>>>>>>
Sunlight sliced through the tinted windows in harsh, golden slats late, almost cruel. The dashboard clock glowed 1:03 p.m.
Isadora woke slowly, body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only came after total surrender.
She was still draped over Rowan bare skin pressed to bare skin, one leg slotted between Rowan's thighs, hand resting possessively over the curve of her breast.
The car smelled like them: sex, sweat, the faint chemical ghost of last night's chaos, all trapped in the sealed space.
Her eyes found Rowan's face first.
Rowan was still asleep head tilted toward the window, dark lashes fanned against flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted.
The morning light painted her in soft gold: the constellation of dark purple hickeys blooming across her throat and collarbones, the faint teeth marks still visible on her swollen lower lip, the peaceful calm that smoothed every sharp line of her usual composure.
She looked almost fragile. Too beautiful to breathe near.
Isadora's chest tightened something possessive and aching twisting hard inside her.
She leaned in slowly.
Lips brushed the side of Rowan's neck soft, reverent right over one of the deepest bruises she'd left.
She kissed there again, slower, tasting salt and skin and the faint copper of last night.
Her fingertip traced the curve of Rowan's mouth gentle, worshipful following the plush outline, feeling the warmth of her breath.
Rowan stirred.
Her lashes fluttered. Eyes opened slow, unfocused at first.
Then they widened.
Sharp. Sudden. Horrified.
She saw it all at once: the reclined seat, her own blouse crumpled and half-on, bra gone, heavy breasts marked with dark ovals and red bite marks, slacks unzipped and tugged low, panties shoved aside, thighs still sticky.
The hickeys. The bruises. The evidence of everything she'd let happen.
Her breath caught sharp, panicked. "Oh my god…"
She shoved Isadora off her in one violent motion hard enough that Isadora's back hit the passenger seat with a thud.
"Get... off... me!"
Rowan scrambled upright, hands shaking as she yanked her blouse closed over her chest, fumbling with buttons that wouldn't fasten right.
She dragged her slacks up, zipped them with jerky, frantic pulls, not caring that the fabric stuck to damp skin.
"This... this shouldn't have happened. None of this should have happened."
Isadora sat frozen for half a second stunned by the sudden rejection then fury ignited behind her eyes, fast and vicious.
"Relax," she said, voice low, dangerous. "Calm down, Rowan. You weren't exactly fighting me last night."
Rowan's head snapped toward her eyes blazing, tears already gathering at the lash line.
"Don't. Don't you dare act like this was mutual. You was drunk... on everything you did to me. I wasn't thinking. I..." She raked both hands through her hair, voice cracking.
"I'm twenty-four. I'm a doctor. You're seventeen. This is a career-ender. A life-ender. I could lose everything."
Isadora's jaw locked. She climbed forward still in only sports bra and underwear until she was kneeling on the driver's seat, crowding Rowan against the door.
"You came apart screaming my name," she hissed.
"You begged me not to stop. You held me like you never wanted to let go. Don't you fucking dare stand there now and pretend you didn't want it just as bad."
Rowan shoved her again chest to chest, palms flat against Isadora's shoulders.
"I was weak! I was stupid! I let you manipulate me... again. You always do this. You push and push until I break, and then you act like it's love. It's not love, Isadora. It's obsession. It's destruction. And I'm done letting you destroy me."
Isadora grabbed Rowan's wrists hard not to hurt, but to hold her still. Her voice dropped to something raw, trembling with rage and hurt.
"You think I'm the one destroying you? You're the one who keeps coming back. You're the one who kissed me back. You're the one who said 'don't stop.' You let me inside you, Rowan. You came on my fingers while crying my name. And now you want to shove me away like I'm trash?"
Rowan yanked her hands free, voice rising, cracking.
"Because I'm terrified! Because I look at you and I see everything I could lose... my license, my reputation, my mother's pride, my own fucking sanity. Because you're seventeen and I'm supposed to be the adult here. Because every single thing we did last night was wrong, and I hate that I still..."
She choked, tears spilling now. "I still want you. And that makes me sick."
Isadora recoiled like she'd been slapped.
For a second silence. Just their ragged breathing and the faint tick of the cooling engine.
Then Isadora's voice came out quiet. Cold. Lethal.
"Get out."
Rowan blinked. "What?"
"Get. Out. Of. My. Car." Isadora's eyes were glassy now anger and pain warring behind them.
"If I'm so disgusting to you, if last night made you sick, then leave. Go back to your perfect little life. Pretend I never touched you. Pretend you didn't beg for it."
Rowan stared at her chest heaving, tears streaming, hands still clutching her half-buttoned blouse.
Her hands shook so badly the last button on her blouse slipped twice before catching.
The fabric clung awkwardly to her still-damp skin, wrinkled and half-tucked, the collar gaping open just enough to reveal the edge of one dark purple hickey creeping up her throat.
She didn't care. She couldn't look at Isadora anymore couldn't bear the fury and hurt blazing in those dark eyes.
"You're right," Rowan muttered, voice hoarse and cracking. "This is your car. I shouldn't even be here."
She shoved the passenger door open cold morning air rushing in like a slap, carrying the faint smell of exhaust and city decay.
Her shoes scraped against the pavement as she half-stumbled out, legs unsteady from last night's intensity and the fresh wave of adrenaline crashing through her.
She didn't look back.
"Rowan..." Isadora's voice cracked behind her, raw and furious. "Don't you fucking walk away from me after..."
But Rowan was already moving fast, jerky steps down the sidewalk, away from the black SUV still idling at the curb.
Her own car was parked two blocks back, right in front of The Vortex's neon sign, where she'd left it last night in her blind rush to find Isadora.
She hadn't even thought about it then; she'd just abandoned the sensible black sedan at the curb, hazard lights forgotten, keys still in her pocket.
Now every step felt like running from herself.
Behind her, the driver's door of Isadora's car slammed open.
"Rowan!" Isadora's shout echoed off the empty street angry, desperate. "You don't get to just leave! Not after you let me..."
Rowan didn't stop. Didn't turn.
She rounded the corner, heart hammering so hard it hurt, tears blurring the edges of her vision.
The hickeys burned under her collar like fresh brands; every brush of fabric against them sent a traitorous shiver down her spine, reminding her exactly how she'd begged for them.
Her car came into view still parked illegally, a parking ticket fluttering under the wiper like an accusation.
She fumbled the keys from her pocket, hands trembling so violently the metal clinked against each other.
The door beeped open. She slid inside, slammed it shut, locked it.
For a second she just sat there forehead pressed to the steering wheel, breaths coming in short, painful gasps.
"What the fuck did I do…"
In the rearview mirror she caught a glimpse of Isadora still in only sports bra and underwear, standing barefoot on the sidewalk two blocks away, fists clenched at her sides, chest heaving.
Even from here, Rowan could see the tears tracking down Isadora's face, the way her shoulders shook with rage and something deeper, more broken.
Isadora took one step forward like she might chase.
Rowan jammed the key into the ignition.
The engine roared to life.
She peeled away from the curb tires squealing faintly without looking back again.
Behind her, Isadora watched the black sedan disappear around the corner.
Her knees buckled slightly; she caught herself against the hood of her own car, nails digging into metal until they left crescent marks.
"Fuck you," she whispered to the empty street voice cracking. "Fuck you for making me love you this much."
The city woke up around her cars honking in the distance, a delivery truck rumbling past but Isadora stayed there, half-naked in the daylight, staring at the spot where Rowan had vanished.
The argument wasn't over.
It had only paused.
And neither of them knew how to end it without breaking completely.
Isadora drove back to the Ravencroft estate in silence windows down, cold wind whipping through her hair, still wearing only the black sports bra and underwear from last night under a hastily grabbed oversized hoodie from the car floor.
The drive felt endless; every red light was a reminder of Rowan's wide, horrified eyes, the way she'd shoved her away like something dirty.
By the time the wrought-iron gates of the mansion swung open, the afternoon sun was already slanting low, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns.
She barely made it through the front doors before the storm hit.